Rebecca Jones - Coursework creative writing Mr Austen
Afraid to Remember,
Terrified to Forget
Rain drops were slowly falling from the sky, depressed grey clouds blocked the sun's rays from brightening the dark skyline of New York City and the usual bustle of the city went unnoticed by the plain looking woman.
She was seen every day by the street vendors of the familiar New York streets no matter what weather the famous city offered, dragging her feet along the pavement, a permanent look of sorrow etched upon her features. Not one of the old men bothered to speak to her. They had called out to her before, advertising their merchandise as she walked by, but had given up when she ignored their cries. Occasionally she turned to glance at them. It was these glances that had put the men off speaking to her; they were not of annoyance like those they usual received from the women who appeared to be from the upper end of the city, they were filled with a sadness which none of them could name. Not once had the men seen her smile or speak, things which she had barely done since it had happened. The few times she has spoken, her eyes would often cloud over in thought as her voice barely reached more than a whisper. It was not unusual for her to fall silent and leave the room, to hide her tears and broken voice from those around her. Naturally, none of the ignorant men knew this. The men now knew not to call out to her when they saw the familiar dark brown hair and brown eyes. They had not bothered to find out the woman's name and simply referred to her as 'that girl.' She became a topic of their conversation when they occasionally ventured to each other's stalls yet they had no idea of the pain which she endured daily, of the suffering she felt when she looked to her young son. Not that they knew she had a son of course.
Today was no different. The cheerless woman slowly wandered down the familiar street, the one filled with street vendors which she had walked down daily for the past three years or so. The men busied themselves with their work, doing their best to avoid the gaze that seemed to see right through them, yet claw at their soul with pity. The woman's hands were buried deep into the pockets of her dark and baggy sweater as usual, her dark hair hung around her face, shielding her from the outside world. Her worn sneakers pressed silently against the grey pavement as she made her way down the familiar, gloomy street. She continued silently, ignoring the sideways glances and occasional stares from the men working the stalls which littered the sides of the street. She had grown used to such looks from strangers, the pity and pain that twisted their features when they saw into her eyes. She would smile wryly at these thoughts, had the action felt too unfamiliar to her constantly morose face, how could these men even have an idea of the pain which she endured daily? Of the agony that tore into her very soul each time she breathed? Or the way that pain intensified till she thought she might collapse from the torture when she looked at her son or her self control gave way and she allowed herself to think of him. Their looks were different from her family's that she resented even more. They knew why she fought to keep herself together, their pity both angered her and made her realise a little more just how much of a mess she was, no matter how hard she tried to convince people otherwise.
She swallowed shakily. She had fought for more than five years to keep her tears to herself. To stop others from feeling this pain. To stay strong for her son.
It was only when she was with him that she could let the tears flow; he was the only person that she allowed to see her cry. She knew that he wouldn't judge her for letting her emotions take over. He knew why she had to stay strong, for their son.
The young woman's thoughts drifted to her young son. His blond hair and startling green eyes made him the image of his father, the mere sight of those familiar eyes would cause a pang of pain to shoot through her chest. She had grown use to the sensation now; when it wasn't there the pain was replaced with a numbness which made her feel worthless, detached and awkward. Like she didn't belong.
She once more pulled herself from her thoughts; she couldn't break down crying in the street, but she knew it wouldn't be long before the pain took over.
The young woman's pace quickened as she rushed to the place where she could break down. She made it out of the street with the men working on their stalls; it was this street which she hated to walk down each day. She was not oblivious to their stares, no matter how discreet the curious men tried to be. True, she could change her daily route but she knew she never would. She had to prove to herself that she was strong enough.
She continued to hurry through the emptying streets of New York City, receiving few looks from the business men and women leaving their offices as they hurried to make it home before the approaching night fell on the city and the increasing raindrops ruined their expensive suits. She pulled the hood of her sweater over her head as she walked quicker to her destination. As usual, she hesitated at the gates. She always did. Slowly she opened the large memorial gate to the World Trade Centre cemetery. A replica of the golden globe from the ground floor stood in the centre, alongside a list of the names of those who died. The young woman did not go here; instead she made the familiar way to the only gravestone she ever visited.
The tears stung at her eyes as she knelt down beside the cool white marble. She couldn't read the engravings through the foggy clouds her unshed tears were making, she didn't want to. No human words could some up her husband.
"Hello Lucas," the woman's voice was shaking yet melodic for a person who spoke very little. She lowered herself to a crouch before twisting her legs beneath her, her pale fingers stroked the white marble. She never felt stupid talking to her husband, this was the only time and place where she felt serene, truthfully the numbness hadn't completely gone but the pain had. For now at least. She sat for an immeasurable amount of time simply stroking the cool stone, time seemed to pass in a blur these days. Sometimes she seemed to lose whole days whereas at others she felt as if time couldn't go quick enough.
"It's been nearly three years since it happened." The woman's voice broke and a few tears slipped down her cheeks. "And I still miss you." The few words ripped into the woman and she allowed herself to feel the agony which accompanied it, fiercer tears fell from her eyes, scorching her cheeks. Her sobs and hiccups echoed through the deserted grave yard.
"I miss the way you used to wrap your arms around me, the way you used to kiss me out of the blue, the way you looked at me apologetically when you messed up dinner." The woman smiled through her tears and swollen cheeks. "But most of all – most of all I miss you. We all miss you." A new wave of pain washed over the woman.
"Hayden looks more and more like you every day. He acts like you too. It hurts to see him growing up; I can't look at him without thinking of you. It's so hard to keep myself from crying whenever he hugs me or smiles."
The woman's memories brought a new wave of hot tears which were washed away by the rain that was now falling heavily, slowly but surely soaking her.
When she finally spoke again, her voice was rougher and pained.
"He told me something today, it broke my heart. He said that he can't remember your voice. I knew this was coming. I didn't want to admit it but it's true. He wants to remember but his memories are fading, and so – and so are mine."
Silent tears blended in with the icy rain that soothed her hot cheeks.
"I don't want to lose you again Lucas. I don't think I could manage. I've lost you once already, I don't want to forget you too."
The woman's shaking whisper was barely audible over the roar of the rain. The words that followed minutes later seemed to be heard throughout the cemetery, ringing with pain and sorrow despite the quiet of the woman's whisper. Her dark, red-rimmed eyes lifted from her hand in her lap to the grave stone, as if somehow wishing that she could look into the eyes of her husband once more and see the love and devotion that filled them rather than the trust and happiness that shone from the identical eyes of her son.
"I don't think I'll ever move on from you Lucas. I know you'd want me to be happy, but I can't be. Not without you. I have Hayden and your family to get me from day to day but there's always going to be something missing. But I can't you back now. You're gone. Forever."
The heat from the tears was the only thing that told the woman that she was still crying. She felt numb again, the freezing rain had nothing to do with it.
"Why Lucas? Why couldn't you have worked somewhere else? You never wanted to work there in the first place. You should have taken the newspaper article. It was what you wanted! The money didn't matter – we would have got by!"
She knew blaming her husband was useless but it relieved her of the confusion and need that built up within her daily. Her shoulders slumped once more as she stroked the shiny, wet gravestone.
"It hurts Lucas. It hurts so damn much. I can't do anything normal! I'm afraid to remember you, but terrified to forget. I try though. I try so hard for Hayden and everybody else. But I don't think I can. I need you; I can't do it without you. I need you here to tell me it's all going to be alright but I don't think it is!" True sobs convulsed through her body, making her lose her breath as she attempted to breathe evenly.
"I'll always love you Lucas," the drenched woman choked out between her sobs, hiccups following. "Hayden will always love you too. I promise." The woman's final words hung in the air with a seriousness that could not be placed, a promise that would never be broken.
The air was unusually fresh from the rain and the streets were empty as many people took shelter within their homes. A soaking wet woman walked slowly through the glistening streets; the red tear tracks on her face hidden by the night, invisible in the darkness that only the brightest stars shone through. Points of light and hope in a life encased in darkness.
2